Foul Poetry

[Worm of Despite]

Thanks...it really wasn't about wind so much as this indescribable feeling of a healthy green, very tall pine trees, and also the very beginning of fall...there's lots of sensations I try to put in each line. A very damp, grey emotion but also that it's timeless, beyond emotion...that the dirt was there before any of our history, woes, or problems, and it keeps playing on in this most beautiful, unnoticed symphony, even as we are just hunched creatures moving over and around it.

[Worm of Despite]

Days Bygone

On the morrow we buried them
In garish casks in stones and smoking urns
And anointed their tanned hides with straps of leather
And splashes of oil and lowered them gravely
Into the gaping tongue of the earth;
Asters and Clematis covers their mouth
Sinking in the earth it will die inside their tongue
And slide down the drying throat and tunnel
That we carved to take the organs out

Burning some we sat their ashes
By the Elbe river and drank the rest of their blood
It tasted like burnished salt running down
And we sang and spoke their names
And smoke and meat rang together
The lute played just a bit much longer
And hours wasted and overwashed
All sensation we crept back to our rude huts

And in the morning mist we cleaned a fish
And put it to spikes and sticks
And took the eggs and organs out
And threw the carcass by the cattails and water
Of the drying lakebed, where hardly any fish lived
And still the ripples of its moving corpse
Run clean and clear and fresh across the water
And we dragged more fish, what we could
And set their bones to plate and meat
To mouths and ate and stank and sang
And laid in cotton wool and woolen breeches

Soon we painted the face of our mother
And laid her to rest with father
Soon the smoke and urns were adorned
And put by her pale arms and forest features
Crept along her as the grave denounced the tomb
And crept along her casket form and hugged with vines
And sang a song more ancient than the clearest sun
Dappling bluest water

Slowly dying, we wept and cried, Oh mother
And laid her anew in a new dress
But it was not her; was not here
There is no marker
No more huts; no wind
No fish lying in a dry bed
No more days, days bygone

[lorin]

Thanks...it really wasn't about wind so much as this indescribable feeling of a healthy green, very tall pine trees, and also the very beginning of fall...there's lots of sensations I try to put in each line. A very damp, grey emotion but also that it's timeless, beyond emotion...that the dirt was there before any of our history, woes, or problems, and it keeps playing on in this most beautiful, unnoticed symphony, even as we are just hunched creatures moving over and around it.

ok, so I went back and reread it. I feel nothing 'green' in the poem but I do feel the beautiful colors of autumn. I can feel the history, the conflict and the age in this piece

Makes me want to go out and walk in the early morning in the woods in fall. Makes me want to see the giant redwood forests in California.

I really like this.

[Worm of Despite]

Check out my newest poem. Wrote both of those today. I think it's my personal favorite now... I felt every line.

Also, I suppose in writing it didn't come out but at one part of the poem I was thinking of a bird's-eyes view of wind playing from every angle over trees, and I had this strong impression of looking up to long pines and this kind of green radiance like the light of the sun winking up or a halo of light...very healthy, clear...I dunno. I wanted to imbue that limitless quality, which I think went into the non-green imagery. But you're right...hardly green at all on the surface, but in my mind, on the third stanza, the wind is "washing" over a forested hill ("twisting forests" part), but it's likely a muted green...kind of how they digitally alter colors in some films to fit the mood of the whole piece.

[Worm of Despite]

Psalm 189

Why did God
Abandon you in sound
Of light and pain; fusion
Of memory; why did you send me
Quivering, everlasting

Dry words, effusive as smoke;
Bent knee, no interlude; steeples
Chase from mouth, bent; no food
Interludes on mouth; steeples stab
At cold stars, quavering light
Why; why; at stars that have
No memory of you

II.
To these Words; take none
Away; Do not Add;
To these words; holy
Benisons sweet and crumpled
Chaste, resolute
Crumpling in this age
[Words are missing] dómfæstnes

[Worm of Despite]

Walking

In the cold autumn
Of the dawn I fucked her
We did not make love
Her hands were on mine
And mine on hers; no sound
Elicited from tree or leaf
Dawn’s fog leapt from pine
On bracken ground, roads clean
And silent; herein this moment I realized
The thought that all could be beautiful
And never for a moment entertained
That in every atom sleeps death

[Worm of Despite]

Benediction

Sweet sister; mother; Savior
Of so many, hear this song
Sweeter than the wind, reaching
So bright the sun retires, jealous

You mingle in the water, rock
And leaf; your song flows
Between all points, so fragile
It shakes the earth

Halls your Father has prepared
Names and faces reside, outlines
Of rivers, trees; sun bends down
On hills beyond shape or describe
On a palace of winds, so warm
Hold his Hand, sweet Sister
Burn in love beyond the word Love

[Fire Daughter]

Thank you, David. It's beautiful. Post it in the thread.

[Furls Fire]

Benediction

Sweet sister; mother; Savior
Of so many, hear this song
Sweeter than the wind, reaching
So bright the sun retires, jealous

You mingle in the water, rock
And leaf; your song flows
Between all points, so fragile
It shakes the earth

Halls your Father has prepared
Names and faces reside, outlines
Of rivers, trees; sun bends down
On hills beyond shape or describe
On a palace of winds, so warm
Hold his Hand, sweet Sister
Burn in love beyond the word Love

This was for me? Sweet mercy, David. I love you too. Thank you so much, it's beautiful. I will treasure it. (Brooke printed it out and it hangs on the headboard of my bed.) God bless you always.

[Worm of Despite]

Thanks Furls...I was worried for awhile you might never get to read it. You deserve a symphony by Beethoven.

[Worm of Despite]

Rain's Voice

In sand baked amber, shores curved
In hollow water, arch shadow
Of caves and coral fish, cicadas
Rotate in perfect fugue, filtered light
Drapes solemn shadow, burns
A light of naked miles, ambient
Sparkling pulse; shadow marches

Cooling waves of floating grey
Lisp in shadow arms to thee, mist
Tickles down a leaf; dies in fall
To words older than thee; rain
Slashes a windowsill

II.
Grey, voiceless rain bespeaks
Grey incontinent climes
Unspoken striding form
Bedecks and strides, washes
Mist of unnamed hill, scars
A path of muddied dikes, tongues
Eyeless rivers seethe and meet,

Cut recourse in sleeping wave
Raking sand and coral rock;
Sun filters new, yellow spots
In planks of wood, caught in wind

That barely meets
Blood and sand

A tide, curved of wind; man
Abates his mind--wind's howl
Brushes, sighs
Writhe in constancy; now
Blue, green-red, washing
He fears he sees himself--
Watery cattails, waling
Of himself

III.
There is the knife
I shall cut ours wrists
The reeds lay
In marshes; bloated
Home fallen
In our heart; blush,
Grey
Distillations
This heaving mass
Changes our city
Rain slashes a windowsill
Divulge no song

No; song--plays; beat
Crack waves of steam
Of ancient hymnals
Of ancient hymnals

[Worm of Despite]

Here's a 2nd version. Tell me which is better!

Rain's Voice

In sand baked amber, shores curved
in hollow water, arch shadow
of corals and of fish, cicadas
Call in perfect fugue, filter light
Drape shadow, burn
A light of naked miles, ambient
Sparkling pulse; shadow

Marches--waves
Dive arms to thee
Leaves die in fall
Words shudder; rain
Slashes a windowsill
Grey, voiceless rain
Incontinent rain
Bedecks and strides
Speaks of hills
A muddied dike
On wind that barely meets

Blood and sand
Curved; man
Abates his mind--howls
Brushes, sighs
In constancy;
blue, green-red washing
He fears he sees himself--
Watery cattails calling

There is a knife
I shall cut ours wrists
The reeds lay
In browning march
Home fallen; brush,
Grey
Distillations
This mass
Changes our city
Rain slashes a windowsill

Divulge no song
No; song--plays; beat
Crack waves
In ancient hymnal
Ancient hymnal

[Kaydene]

bravo! The entire thing feels like a birthing. I thought the first had some wonderful lines that you cut out in the second posting:

Unspoken striding form
Bedecks and strides, washes
Mist of unnamed hill

and

A path of muddied dikes, tongues
Eyeless rivers seethe and meet

and I think you should keep this line in its full form from the first poem:

Crack waves of steam

but the second has a great rhythm, its beat is something primal, for sure.

my favorite from the second:

Blood and sand
Curved; man
Abates his mind--howls
Brushes, sighs

The end hits hard, which I always like it poetry, it ties the spirituality into the primal beat. When all is said and done, both offer different things, it depends on what you want conveyed with it.

[Worm of Despite]

I think I've made a suitable Frankenstein monster, thanks to your feedback.

Rain's Voice

In sand baked amber, shores curved
in hollow water, arch shadow
of corals and of fish, cicadas
Call in perfect fugue, filter light
Drape shadow, burn
A light of naked miles, ambient
Sparkling pulse; shadow

Marches--waves
Dive to thee
Leaves die in fall
Words shudder, rain
Slashes a windowsill
Unspoken striding form
Bedecks and strides, washes
Mist of unnamed hill
A path of muddied dikes, tongues
Eyeless rivers seethe and meet

Blood and sand
Curved; man
Abates his mind--howls
Brushes, sighs
In constancy;
blue, red-green washing
He fears he sees himself--
Watery cattails calling

There is a knife
I shall cut ours wrists
The reeds lay
In browning march
Home fallen; grey
Distillations
This mass
Changes our city
Rain slashes a windowsill

Divulge no song
No; song--plays; beat
Crack waves of steam
In ancient hymnal

[Kaydene]

Very nice. And, may I just say that, "fugue" is officially my word of the day. Fugue Fugue.

[Worm of Despite]

Very nice. And, may I just say that, "fugue" is officially my word of the day. Fugue Fugue.

Fugues rule. Counterpoint is the height of music for me... Fugueeeee.

[Worm of Despite]

Evening

Blood and fields
Lay in the deep furrows of my mind
A thousand years
Rise and pass as smoke
Certainly all the things I am
Are not so transient; certainly
But the cold rhythm in my hands
Tells me otherwise

Certainly it is not so; tell me
Tell me there is more; tell me
Is blood meant to be spilt, earth
Drink its fill? Sun drapes for no man

Shadows rise and fall
And are untwining, as if
On a pivot in some celestial song
We cannot see or hear; slowly
Now my blood curls in tones; distills

And dilates; slowly the evening cast
Shines

[Worm of Despite]

Sing to me
Not in words
But images; speak
Not of the thing itself
But the object removed

Not of its passing
But the arc of air
It leaves behind

[Kaydene]

Wonderful! More simplistic than usual, I'd have to say. The last stanza knocks the air out of the reader. It's perfect without any structure and that's how you know you really have something. It's suspended by its own depth.

[Worm of Despite]

Love Theme

Of wind and pretence
Of autumn we will speak no more
Not of wind; of
Our voiceless God
Of hearing and things we are, feigned
Or unreal

A half-remembered branch
In ill-forgotten sieves. Sound of rain
Applies to night; did you see--
A face in a window? Tell me; did you
A shadow or breath in so many hours
As we are, form or lineation, angles
Suffering emotion--did you--

II.
Fasting; Fast—approaching
Recedes thought; we spoke
Absolve thoughts; passing
Prayers; not wind; smoke
Draw clear eyes; feel afraid
Of this line, this text; feel
Its constancy, contextual being--

Your desire matches mine!
And I sing to thee
And bind my flesh in thine
And tangle our eye and spirit

Dying leaves list
Each affectation of guilt
Mercy, color, May, June—cannot
Match thy eyes; water held
Thy eyes like sprites; ripples fell
An idea left; I sought left, knowing right
I sought right, knowing there was no time

Winds blush and push
A tone in colour; imagine Franklin’s harmonium
Turning; striding; songs pierce night
Rise; fade; rise; who said; once—“rise”
Once; who said; once--only, never seeing
Winds fall in time

III. Rain

Rain—rain; speak
I saw your eye in strands
Sighing in each syllable, wilting
In an axis, its apogee; exegesis

Red and painted bough, red
In reddening wind in reddening lines;
Unravel in dead and drying river, forgotten
Waterless hole; what God did you choose?
What fine color; what nation, climbing
Sliding your chest through

Children, awake
Each child wakes to arise
This is written in every turn or verse
This is written in a height